Twisted Metal
by DevinBourdain
Summary: It should have been a relaxing weekend off for the officers of fire house 51. Instead a terrible accident leaves one firefighter with a life altering decision.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Chicago Fire characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.

Reviews are always welcome

**Twisted Metal**

Severide checks his fuel gage as the lights from the approaching gas station pierce the crest of the upcoming hill. He debates stopping for a moment. There's plenty left in the tank to make it to the cabin and he's already running late, but he can't seem to shake the truck that's been weaving and riding his bumper for the last few miles. It's getting late and dark with heavy rain clouds hanging in the air which he won't be able to avoid. The tight feeling in his gut is screaming that trouble is chasing the horizon if he can't put some distance between himself and the jag-offs joyriding behind him. The rusted red pickup with a couple of wannabe thug teenagers riding his ass and playing games make the decision for him.

"Good riddance," he mumbles as the pickup peels off the highway, kicking up dirt and rocks as it pulls into the service station. Kelly drives on, aiming to put as much distance between him and the assholes as possible. It's one more annoyance in a day that's been filled with inconveniences.

The tension starts to slip from his shoulders; his grip finally loosening on the steering wheel. The traffic thins out as the rain clouds open up with a steady but light drizzle. Hopefully the weather at the cabin will be a little nicer for the rest of the weekend.

Kelly was already looking forward to relaxing with the boys after a trying week at the firehouse, but after his alarm failing to off today, the sink backing up, the strap on his duffle bag breaking which sent his duffle bag tumbling down three flights of stairs thus breaking his bottle of cologne all over his clothes, having to repack for the weekend and dealing with a flat tire before he even left Chicago - needs this weekend even more. Even if Chief Boden wants to discuss new procedures with Casey, Herrmann and himself on this trip, it's worth it to escape the frustration for a few days.

The rain starts to come down a little harder; the patter and whoosh of the wipers drowning out the songs on the radio. Kelly waits until he passes the green minivan in what will be the last passing lane for miles, before he reaches over, turning the volume dial up. Soft blue light from the digital display reads ten after nine. The guys are probably starting to worry. He should have been there hours ago and who knows if his text message about this afternoon reached anyone.

If he remembers correctly, there should be a rest spot coming up in about fifteen minutes where he can pull over and try to call Casey and let them know he's on his way. There's probably a big ole 'I told you so' coming Severide's way, or at least a gentle 'you should have come with me' snort.

Fate clearly believes Kelly should have accepted Casey's offer for Kelly to ride out to the cabin with him. The thought of leaving at the crack of dawn wasn't overly appealing though, especially considering Kelly wanted to enjoy the night with Stella before she and Brett headed to the airport for a girls weekend in New York the next morning.

"Whoa," breathes Kelly as the mustang hydroplanes a little going around the corner. He easily corrects without much thought. It's nature's gentle reminder to slow down a little.

The rain is coming down in torrents, coving the road in a thin sheet and filling in the well worn grooves in the pavement. He eases his foot off the accelerator. So much for making up time. The other cars on the road have the same idea as they all slow down slightly, forming a decently spaced tight line of five vehicles as they navigate the black winding highway road.

Kelly grinds his teeth as the old worn sign for the rest stop points to the upcoming entrance. He _should_ stop and call. Reception is spotty around here with no guarantee he'll even get a signal until he reaches the lake town. Wandering around an empty rest stop in the pouring rain as he tries and find that sweet spot with enough bars to make an apology phone call about being late, doesn't really have any appeal in this down pour. Why risk being wet and cold when he's less than an hour away now anyways?

No. He'll just keep going and apologise for any worry he's caused with a six pack and his tale of Murphy 's Law woe.

Bright light bounce off his rear-view and side mirrors causing Kelly to squint against the harsh glare. "What the hell!" The minivan's been behind him for the better part of a mile. It seems weird for a family out on a road trip to start causing problems, especially when they've been pretty law abiding so far. There's certainly no reason for them to be flashing their high beams at Kelly's mustang. Tension starts the crawl back through Kelly as he starts searching the side of the road for potential hazards he might be missing that the minivan has noticed.

He glances in the rear-view mirror. "Son of a bitch." It's not the minivan flashing the lights or any other car that's been in the line, it's the damn pickup from earlier. Apparently the road conditions aren't enough to deter them from being assholes or even slow them down. They've caught up to the line of traffic, weaving back and forth behind the last car, flashing their lights and blasting their horn in an effort to try and pass.

Kelly slows down a little more and moves his rear-view mirror slightly to keep some of the glare out of his eyes. If the truck wants to pass on the next straight stretch that's fine by him. Ahead or behind, either place is good as long as the pickup is nowhere near him. He's seen one too many accidents involving teens who thought they were invincible and that shenanigans on the road were just a way to get a good laugh; he's in no mood to see another.

The tension is creeping back in his shoulders and arms; his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. He checks the rear-view mirror more frequently, watching the pickup jockey for position in line. The truck's made it past the last two vehicles, both of which have since slowed right down, wanting no part of the pickup's reckless driving.

The highway is pretty curvy up ahead and Kelly's not looking forward to having the pickup on his ass around such tight corners until the next potential pass section but there's not enough road to safely pass all three cars in line before the first in a series of sharp corners rapidly approaches.

Except maybe Kelly's wrong, because the pickup swerves into the oncoming lane, tires screeching as it peels out to pass on a double solid yellow line. The engine roars louder as it eats up the pavement, passing the SUV and then the green minivan and gaining on Kelly's mustang as the corner swiftly approaches.

Kelly rolls his eyes. He'd love nothing more than to open his mustang up and leave young and dumb in the dust. He can't claim youthful stupidity anymore, so he eases on the break instead. The pickup catches up to him, weaving in the oncoming lane as the occupants cheer and flip Kelly off.

The pickup accelerates even more inching past Kelly until it jerks sharply in front of him. He stomps on the breaks, the mustang jolting back as the pickup starts to veer into the lane mere inches from the front bumper of Kelly's car to slip into the corner on the right side of the road.

It's not soon enough though, as ominous headlights shatter the darkness of the corner, crawling around from the other side to herald the impending arrival of the transport truck racing through the night. The truck swerves trying to give the unexpected pickup more room to cross back into the correct lane the same moment Kelly really slams down on the breaks.

The young driver of the pickup panics; overcompensating and losing traction in the rain. The pickup slides and fishtails. The silence of the forest surrounding the highway filling with the hiss and screeching of breaks and tires as they try to slow the hurtling bullets of metal speeding towards one another. The cab of the transport truck veers hard to the right but the trailer twists and clips the pickup hard sending it into a spin.

There's not enough space to maneuver as the pickup slams into the trailer. Kelly holds his breath as he digs his foot in harder against the break. There's an explosion of glass and the defining sound of crushing metal as the world whirls by in one big blur. Kelly's head smashes against the side window as the mustang gets tangled in the metal tornado of pickup and transport truck.

His vision fills with the soft yellow lights of the minivan and the panicked face of its driver before the world violently goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to my incredible reviews, you guys are awesome.

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Red and white lights pulsate, cutting through the night and bathing the stretch of highway in an eerie glow. The lights are familiar in their urgency, their desperate call to action enough to resonate behind Kelly's eyelids.

Somebody needs help.

Kelly has to help somebody.

"Mmmm," he moans, every inch feeling heavy and tired. All he wants to do is pull the blankets tighter around himself and catch another hour of sleep, but lives are on the line. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open and mental prepares for the call. Everything is blurry and mostly dark. He reaches out to find the edge of his bunk and pull himself out of bed so he can begin his well rehearsed race to get his gear on and go.

Something's wrong.

He can't move his body and it's not the scratchy fabric of the old firehouse blankets his hand is running over- it's leather and plastic and metal.

Pain steals away Kelly's breath, dancing along every nerve and splitting his skull. He attempts to suck in a deep breath but the effort sets his shoulder afire. Instinctively, his body tries to curl in on itself, anything to escape the pain but the futile effort just makes it worse. He blindly gropes around until his hand weakly hits something long and cold protruding from his left shoulder. His eyes dart around frantically, blinking rapidly to try and dispel the blurriness.

The red and white emergency lights reach just far enough to gleam off the twisted black metal that used to be part of Kelly's door and now is firmly impaled through his shoulder and embedded in the seat of his mustang.

Panic starts to rise as the moments before the crash hit Kelly like a sledgehammer, swirling around with the horror he now finds himself in. "Fuck," he hisses in anguish, fighting back tears that sting his eyes. He grits his teeth and tries to think about anything other than the pain exploding in his shoulder or the warm blood slowly spreading out in the fabric of his shirt and chasing away the chill of the night.

He's been in precarious situations before. He just has to keep it together. Fear is a silent killer and Kelly won't let it take over.

A bright light hits Kelly like a knife through the eye, blinding him momentarily and sending the shadows of despair and death skittering away. He tries to move his head to get out of the path of the light but it feels too heavy to move and there isn't a lot of room to maneuver in anyways.

"Kelly, don't move. You're going to be alright," assures Dawson, moving the flashlight out of Kelly's eyes.

Kelly squints. "Gabby?" His head starts to spin with questions. He wants to ask when Dawson got back? When she rejoined the fire department and her family at fifty-one? How did she find him? But he can't seem to get his tongue to form the words. That tired feeling is taking hold again. It's okay though, because he's in good hands.

The blurry form of Dawson slowly becomes clearer, sharper, and Kelly realizes he's looking at a stranger. The hair's right. The brown eyes have that same determination and confidence and by god the voice is close, but it's not Dawson perched precariously over him.

Her gloved hand reaches out and touches him reassuringly on the shoulder near his neck. "I need you to stay still," she instructs, silently counting the beats of his heart. "My name's Cara. What's yours?"

"K-Kelly Severide," he breaths trying to ride out a wave of pain.

"Hey there, Kelly," says Cara with a smile before turning to yell over her shoulder, "I have an adult male trapped. Gonna need an IV and backboard and an extraction as soon as possible."

Someone calls back an answer but Kelly can't make it out over the sound of a saw.

"Who's Gabby? Someone in the car with you?" asks Cara as she shines her flashlight around the wreckage that used to be Kelly's car.

"No. No she was a friend. A paramedic in Chicago." Kelly's eyes follow the light as it bounces off the twisted seat and metal frame that's more reminiscent of a pretzel than his prized mustang. He wants to be mad but the anger is held back by the shock that he's even alive. Out of the corner of his eye he can see one of the wheels from the transport truck sitting in what used to be his passenger seat. Cara's kneeling on the flattened part of what used to be the green minivan's trunk space. His car is partially under the transport truck and pressed against what's left of the green minivan. The front end of the car is crushed and pressed tightly against his lower chest; he can't even see his legs under the mangled dashboard. He bites his lip to stifle the groan clawing for release as he tries to tilt his head forward to get a better look.

"Whoa there, cowboy," cautions Cara, placing her hands on either side of Kelly's face preventing him from moving his head. "We'll have you out of here as soon as possible but I need you to be still and let me finish checking you out." Expert hands reach into her pack and pull out a c-collar, delicately wrapping it around Kelly's neck.

"Not a cowboy," hisses Kelly, riding out a wave of agony. The collar's secured in place. Kelly feels like he's suffocating, like the plastic collar is squeezing tighter and choking him. He's already in a painfully small space and somehow the collar's making the claustrophobia worse.

Cara moves her stethoscope around Kelly's chest, vigilant of the metal sticking out just under his collarbone. She reaches around and carefully slips her hand between her patient and the seat probing the exit wound. It's difficult to maneuver, the metal from the top part of the door pinning Kelly firmly to the seat. She glances over the seat to what little space remains of the back seat. The piece of metal protrudes about five inches from the seat. "I thought all boys wanted to grow up to be cowboys."

Kelly grimaces. Even though Cara is being gentle, every touch feels like a fresh knife in the wound. "Firefighter. I'm a firefighter."

"A firefighter huh? Then you know how this goes. I'm going to need you to be calm and still and tell me what hurts."

"That shouldn't be a problem," assures Kelly, his voice cracking with pain. Breathing hurts. He's not going to twitch if he can help it. He closes his eyes and takes a slow deep breath. Could this day possibly get any worse?

Cara shines her penlight in Kelly's eyes. He winces in pain as he tries to recoil from the light. "You're looking at a concussion. Can you squeeze my hands?" she asks, putting down the flashlight and grabbing a hold of Kelly's hands. His right hand is in his lap but she has to dig around to take hold of his left one; the bent frame of the lower car door pinning his forearm down along beside his thigh.

"That's good," she says with smile as Kelly squeezes back. It's not tight but it's good enough.

It occurs to Kelly that his legs are pinned under the dashboard and they don't hurt. In fact, his legs are the only part of him that don't hurt. He can't feel his legs at all.

"My legs," he chokes out, "I can't feel my legs."

He can feel her hands slip from his and move to his chest. Slowly they trail down his chest and abdomen. "Tell me when the sensation stops." Her hands move lower, over his hips and down his thighs.

"There!" he cries, watching her face for any hint as to how bad it is. There's nothing but calm reassurance staring back at him. "Am I paralyzed?" he asks before he loses the nerve to ask. His whole life as he knows it, is riding on the answer. Part of him hopes Cara lies to him.

"Your legs are pinned pretty good and sensation stops in the middle of your thigh right where the dashboard is pressing down. I think the odds are pretty good that once we get you out of here the feeling will return."

Kelly locks desperate eyes with Cara. "You're sure?"

"You'll be dancing in no time."

"Cara!" yells a man from outside Kelly's vision. The paramedic's eyes dart to the right.

"That's the fire captain calling me. I'll be right back, okay?" she says squeezing Kelly's hand.

Kelly tries to nod but the damn brace makes it impossible to move his head. "Yeah, go," he mutters around shaky breaths. He watches Cara climb back over the wreckage towards what's probably a cluster of emergency vehicles- fire, ambulance, police, all gathered to try and help save lives that are only in danger because of one reckless driver.

It hits Kelly, sitting there unable to look at anything other than the broken remain around him, just how alone he feels. It was supposed to a quiet weekend at the lake with the guys- fishing, drinking; not trapped in the twisted metal cage of what was formerly his mustang, alone on a quiet highway unable to help himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Kelly can hear the sound of saws and tools working to free other victims; the constant hum of rescue crews shouting orders and demands float through the scene on the wings of the flashing lights of rescue vehicle all illuminating the vicinity. The area is crawling with help but being on this side of the scene, Kelly feels completely empty and alone.

Kelly flinches at the electronic melody that shatters the night; the phone suddenly seeming uncharacteristically loud in the aftermath of the accident. His hand moves towards the passenger seat that's no longer there. His phone's lost somewhere in this mess but based on the ring, it's Casey calling. Probably wondering where the hell he is. It stops ringing, going to voicemail so Casey can leave a message Kelly might never be able to check.

Kelly chest pulls tight and the constant throb emanating from his shoulder increases. All those close calls working squad and this is how he's going to go out? Panic takes hold, tearing at his resolve like a wild animal, leaving gaping holes for fear to grow. "Oh god," he croaks, blinking away tears. There's nothing else to focus on but what's right in front of him in the long, slow, space between heartbeats.

"I'm back," says Cara as she climbs back across the wreckage and sets up next to Kelly. She's not alone this time. "I brought a friend. Now it's officially a party." Her bag slips from her shoulder as she pulls out a flashlight and tapes it to the side of the car with medical tape to help light the area. "I brought you some fluids," she says holding up an IV bag with delight."

"Great the good stuff," says Kelly, fighting back a sob in a bid to regain composure. Just keep calm and don't give up.

Cara looks regretful as she inserts a needle into the back of Kelly's hand. "Sorry, we're going to have to wait for authorization for the _really_ good stuff." She pats him on the hand.

"This is my friend Davis. He's come to see about getting you out of here. It's a real mess out here so it's taking the team a minute to get to us," apologises Cara.

Davis seems less inclined to chat. He hefts a set of cutters in his hand as he tries to position himself near the door. Kelly's smack dab in the epicenter of the accident; a transport truck and pickup on one side, four other vehicles on the other and his mustang twisted and broken in the middle of the metal sandwich.

"Best news I've heard all day," sighs Kelly. This nightmare could finally be drawing to a close.

"My friend Kelly here is a firefighter too," says Cara.

"No kidding. Out of where?" asks Davis with feigned interest; his focus more on getting into position than making distracting small talk.

"Lieutenant with Squad three at house fifty-one in Chicago," replies Kelly, desperately trying to watch the action out of the corner of his eye.

"He didn't tell me he was a Lieutenant," says Cara with a coy smile. "Guess he outranks you Davis." She unzips her navy jacket and pulls it off. "You know the drill, Kelly. Just going to cover you with this to keep the glass and stuff off. It's going to get a little dark," she explains as she drapes her coat over Kelly, protecting his head and neck. Most of the glass in the driver's side window has fractured and broken off, yet there are still a few stubborn shards desperately clinging to the frame.

Kelly takes a deep breath, ignoring the fiery ache still raging in his shoulder. Cara reaches under her coat and takes hold of his hand. Kelly hangs on to it with everything he has as the sounds of cracking glass and bending metal grate against his nerves.

The car groans like a dying animal as the jaws slowly separate the door from what's left of the frame. The saw screams to life next, going in for the kill as the mangled metal loses its fight to maintain its cage around Kelly.

Kelly's fingers twitch and ache to hold a halligan; to be a part of the action in a helpful way. He doesn't need to see what's going on to know exactly what Davis is doing. The sounds and smells are burned into his memory. The reverberation echoes through the metal in his shoulder as Davis cuts it from the door frame. Kelly bites down hard on his lip to muffle his cries but he loses the battle. The agony at being jostled around flies free into the night as a roar.

There's a thud as Davis pulls the door free, moving it as out of the way as best he can. Cara's quick to pull her jacket off of Kelly and set to work with her penlight, looking and probing what more she can see now that the door is gone.

The light is blinding. Kelly counts backwards from fifty in his head as he waits to hear the verdict from Cara. His eyes finally adjust back to the light in time to catch a concerned look between Cara and Davis.

"What?" he asks, slightly panicked. "What is it?"

Davis just nods and climbs back over the wreckage towards the rescue vehicles.

"The front's mangled pretty good," she replies, her eyes following Davis. "It's going to be a lot of work to try and get your right leg free. They'd have to pull the whole front of the car apart."

There's something in Cara's voice that's off. She's been cheerful and carefree so far and now there's an apologetic reservation in it. A million scenarios run through Kelly's head. He's right in the middle of this pile of mangled metal and the crews are going to have to clear some of it away to even get to Kelly, never mind the work of taking the car apart.

"It's going to be okay," assures Cara as though she can read his thoughts.

Kelly's seen that tight look before. It's the same look Shay used to use when there wasn't a lot of wiggle room. "Sure," says Kelly, licking his dry lips. "What aren't you telling me?" He locks eyes with Cara and refuses to let go until she lays some truth on him.

She looks like she's considering Kelly's request.

Kelly screams, raw, primal and animalistic. He's been burned before, felt the heat cook his skin but the pain running up his left leg is far worse. Like a sleeping dragon, the agony has come alive with an all consuming fire.

"Okay, okay," stammers Cara, reaching in her bag to pull out a syringe. She slips it into the IV line and presses the plunger. She squeezes Kelly's hands, hard, breathing loudly in a slow steady rhythm until Kelly copies her.

"My leg," chokes out Kelly. The pain is so bad he can hardly form the words.

Her hands run down the outside of Kelly's leg. "Good news, the feeling's returned to you leg. Bad news, you're going to be in a cast for the rest of the summer. Nothing's protruding the skin so that's a small mercy here."

Kelly lets out a small chuckle because if he doesn't, he's going to cry. There's something so absurd about Cara talking about missing out on summer due to a cast when he's trapped in a wreck. "Don't make me laugh," he pleads when his shoulder starts to compete for attention.

"I'll do my best," promises Cara, getting back to work tending to the cuts and gashes along Kelly's leg.

He grabs her hand to still her movements. "You were going to tell me something."

Cara takes a deep breath. "We can free your left leg but the right one is really pinned in there."

Kelly croaks, "You told me that."

"There might not be enough time to do that. We're going to have to call in a trauma surgeon to amputate so we can extricate quickly."

Kelly tries to shake his but the damn collar keeps his head still. "No."

"Kelly, you're stats are dropping and if we don't get you out soon, we're going to have a real problem. You need to be in a hospital now. They're working on pulling these vehicles apart but there's probably not going to be enough time to pry everything apart to get access to your car. We're against the clock here."

"I'm a fireman. I need my legs to do my job," protest Kelly.

"I know, but your life is what's important here right now."

"Being a fireman is my life," he pleads.

Cara squeezes his hand. Sorrow has stolen the smile she's been bravely wearing all night. Kelly feels kind of bad he's the one that's stolen it. "Please."

"Kelly..." starts Cara.

"Can we just, just wait and see if they can get me out in time."

Cara feels like she's been kicking a puppy. She can picture every single one of her coworkers in Kelly's situation and all of them begging for the same thing. She swallows hard. Her training says no but her heart can't stand the thought of being the one to sign what will effectively be an execution order. "We'll wait as long as we can but the second I say we have to go... Kelly, we have to do what's necessary to save your life."


	4. Chapter 4

Kelly's phone goes off again. Different ringtone this time and a little more persistent. The call ends before it can be sent to voice mail but starts again almost immediately.

"Hot date?" asks Cara, breaking the melancholy that's been settling in.

Kelly chuckles. It's short-lived, turning quickly into a sharp hiss as his shoulder protests the movement.

"It's my chief. They're probably worried and looking for me now."

Cara grabs her penlight, panning across the remains of Kelly's car. "Hold on," she says, climbing over the hood carefully and reaching through the windshield. She digs around for a few moments before triumphantly holding up the phone. "Do you want to answer it?" she asks.

Does he?

He could use the anchor of a familiar voice, the reassurance that someone he trusts has his back and is here with him; even if it is just their voice. There's also terror- fear that he won't be able to ignore the truth about the situation or stall the inevitable. Admitting to someone else the gravity of events means he has to accept his looming fate himself. He's never considered if he wanted to make a dying phone call before.

Kelly shakes his head frantically or as frantically as he can with a collar on. He's unable to trust himself to articulate a coherent answer. Truthfully, he's scared. He spends his days running into dangerous situations and making life or death decisions but now that he's completely dependent on someone else to do the rescuing, courage seems to have abandoned him. If he takes that call and tires to speak, deep down he knows he'll just be a sobbing mess. Is that the potentially last moment he wants to share with his friends?

A little softer she asks, "Do you want me to answer it?"

"Yeah." They're going to find out eventually and maybe this way he'll get an honest assessment of just how screwed he really is and not one designed to keep him calm.

"Okay," she says, tapping the phone. "Chief Boden?" she answers, reading the name off the phone display. She gestures towards Kelly, silently asking if he's changed his mind and wants to speak with the man. Kelly rocks his upper body slightly to indicate no. He's doubtful he could keep it together if actual had to say something to Boden, never mind listening to what would probably be some speech about hope from the man. Kelly's pretty sure this is the moment hope is going to abandon him.

Kelly tries to hide his disappointment as Cara climbs out of earshot and continues the conversation in hushed tones. That's never good. He was hoping to hear what she had to say. At least if she was willing to say it in front of him it might not be so bad.

He might not be articulate at the moment but now that the chance is gone, he thinks that hearing Boden's voice might steady his nerves. Never one to hesitate to rush into danger to save someone else, being helpless doesn't suit him and it's chipping away at his resolve, leaving him a wreck.

It feels like eternity while Cara's gone; a long suffocating limbo of darkness and uncertainty shrouded in pain and fear. This is hell. His entire future, possibly his life is riding on the decisions and skills of someone else. The universe had been conspiring against him all day, apparently it was saving the grand finale for now.

Kelly kind of wonders how Boden is taking the news. Is it with his usual gruff stonewall composure that carefully conceals a caring soul or is the man visibly shaken? Is Herman in denial while Casey demands actions? He hopes he's made enough of an impact in his fire families lives that this revelation would impact them but at the same time the thought of the news causing them any anguish is disheartening.

"Okay," says Cara climbing back to Kelly's side. The reassuring smile is somewhat back, though it seems a little haunted around the edges. She places the phone on what's left of the mustang's hood.

Kelly can't take his eyes off the phone. He once recorded a victim's final goodbye to his wife on that phone. He thinks about the crew at the firehouse, about Stella. Maybe it's not such a horrible idea to leave something for his loved ones. The pain in his legs and shoulder are throbbing like competing drum solos. Things are only going to get worse, especially if he's going to try and hold out for an extraction. Perhaps he should do it now. Better they see him while he can still sort of keep it together.

"Hey," Cara says, getting Kelly's attention like she knows the freight train of thoughts racing through his head. "We're going to get you out of this. You're Chief made me promise. And he sounds like a man I wouldn't want to disappoint."

"But in how many pieces?" sighs Kelly. There are three options in how tonight is going to end; death, amputation and a hail Mary. Today doesn't scream of miracles but rather reeks of doom. He tries to imagine what his life would look like if he is forced to do anything else. He can't think of a single job that would bring him any joy.

Sure he likes fixing boats. It's an awesome way to bring in a little extra cash, not to mention the quiet therapeutic calmness of it all. He's thought about going into it full time before, but that was when it was his choice to walk away. Being forced out due to injury makes doing anything else bitter like ash.

Sure his friends would make the effort to be in his life at first; they stick together after all. But how long will they stay once the bitterness takes over and Kelly pushes all painful reminders of what he's lost away. Will Stella stay at that point?

Pretty soon Kelly will become an obligation, their socializing feeling forced and a consumption of their dwindling spare time. The organic magic of being around the crew every shift will fade and soon the stories and conversations will seem foreign to him without that first hand, 'you had to be there' experience. Eventually he'll just fade out of the group entirely. What does Kelly have after that? Those people are his family, there is no one else.

"None of that," snaps Cara with steely determination. "We're not there yet. You're going to get out of this, Kelly. You're story doesn't stop here." She takes his hand and gives it a firm squeeze.

Kelly squeezes back. The story may not end tonight, for him, losing a leg, turns the story into a horror story. He knows the worst thing to do is lose hope. That's the greatest killer of all. He just needs to focus on something else.

Easier said than done.

He wracks his brain for any fleeting bit of conversation but even basic socializing skills that he's normally so proficient with are eluding him. Then it clicks, something he can latch on to. "How's everyone else? Are the other drivers going to be okay?"

Cara bits her lip and busies herself with Kelly's IV. "A freight truck can do some serious damage."

A flame of guilt burns through Kelly. He's not the only one having a bad night here. "What about the green van?" He remembers the look of fear in the driver's face before they collided, that same sheer helplessness that Kelly's burdened with now. There were kids in that vehicle; a whole family.

Cara brightens a little at the mention of the van. "Dad's got a broken collar bone and a possible shattered knee but the mom, baby and two kids just suffered some bruising and cuts. They were pretty lucky tonight," she says with a smile. "They were our first happy ending of the night." She emphasises the word first, like she expects some more.

At least someone got lucky here. Kelly finds it oddly reassuring to hear. "What about the teenagers in the truck?"

Cara closes her eyes and shakes her head. It's written all over her face and Kelly knows all too well the burden of knowing someone has to make a call to a family tonight that will forever change their universe.

"You did all you could," offers Kelly. He's not the first sad ending tonight.

Cara wipes away a small tear with the wrist of her jacket. She lets out a small forced laugh. "I'm supposed to be comforting you."

"Occupational hazard."

The grinding and screaming of metal vibrates through the scene, joining the harmony of beeps and flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. There's a symphony of pops and cracks followed by the thud of a mangled vehicle being hoisted up by a tow truck. Cara looks over, somewhere beyond Kelly's left shoulder. "We're making progress. They're getting closer to us, you just have to hold on."

Kelly's not sure what they're getting closer to. Are they just paving the way for the trauma surgeon or does he have a real shot of getting out of here? He keeps turning it over in his head. Is he being ridiculous? Most people would just be happy to be alive; he's setting conditions to his rescue. If he doesn't have his job does he pretty much dead anyways. Is living death a life worth having?

"Anyone else make it out?" he asks.

"The driver of the trailer is badly shaken up and feeling guilty," reports Cara.

"He didn't do anything wrong," informs Kelly. "Just another victim of wrong place wrong time."

"Yeah," agrees Cara solemnly.

They both know it doesn't make anyone feel better when there are body bags at the scene. Even Kelly wonders if maybe he shouldn't have pulled into that gas station and told those teens to knock it off. It probably wouldn't have changed a damn thing but it's hard to shake the feeling of what if.

"They took him to hospital for a head scan for a concussion. There was a white car in the mix. Driver and passenger taken to hospital with broken thumbs and nose from the air bags. Girl in the blue SUV is stuck but appears to only have superficial wounds. She's between the van and the white car. And the last car swerved and got clipped in back end sending them down the embankment. I haven't heard much from the team that went down to get them other than they were all alive there."

"So after the kids, I'm the worst?" asks Kelly. It's odd, but knowing the rest of the people involved are better off than he is, it's kind of comforting. It would be better if the teens were alive too, but things could have been much worse for everyone involved.

"Just means you have my full attention tonight Lieutenant." That attention wavers slightly as she looks up at the whomping sound echoing over the forest.

"What is it?" asks Kelly, unable to see the source of the sound. It's not unfamiliar, but the world is a swirling chaos of flashing lights, dark highway and crippling pain.

"Helicopter is looking to land. The trauma surgeon is here," says Cara quietly.

Kelly swallows hard as his stomach drops.


End file.
